ffiOtt/S*jmrFFs RROWSOF DESIRE5 November /99O

CONTENTS 4 Father, Forgive Me 5 Death Comes Calling 7 Songs for the Dying 1OFamous Last Words 11Pfaylist #1: Suicide 12 Death 13 More Or Less Than Just Love 14 Early Morning, Almost Anywhere 15 Deathlist: uK1976 Fatalities 16 Stretcher Bearer 18 Deathshead Revisited 24 One Man's Heaven 25 A Hell of a Job 26 Pfaylist #2: Marc Almond Special 27 Atter the First Death 29 Advertisement 3OOn the lmprobability of my Existence 31 Death's Diary 32 (Untitled) 33 Death in TV Movies 34 Bright Winged, With Pale Hands 35 Playlist #3: Death Top Ten 35 Pfaylist #4: Abortion 36 A True Faith

37 | Drink Beer, Me...Continued

39 Loco Citato 44 Contributors 45 And Finally... (* an"toffi b Cheslin FATHER.FORGIVEME S VOUay

I dreamedabout you last night,so I thoughtl'd bettercome and see you today and talk about it. lt was a very strangedream indeed, and you know I neverused to rememberthem. I'd come overto mother'sto see her, and you were there.You'd come back. You lookedsomewhat rough, unshaven and wearingthat old gardeningcoat. You were grinningsheepishly, as thoughto implyit had all been a bit of a sillycock-up, and of coursemother was overjoyed,hugging you and crying.I don't rememberany words beingspoken. In fact, it was rather like a silent film. I can only rememberfeeling resentful,and thinking: You can't do thisl lAe fucking burned and buriedyou/ i might havebeen afraidthat eventuallyyou'd turn and chastiseme for not cryingwhen I saw your body laid out at the Undertakers,or at the funeral,or aftenvards,when we came back to the grave and saw all the flowers. You made the local papers, you know. Parish Counci//orDbs..., well, about what you'd expect. I expectmother still has the clipping. On October 1sth, 1981,lreceived a phone call from mother in the early morning,telling me you'd been taken to hospital,having suffered a stroke duringthe night. She told me not to worry, as the doctor had said it only appearedto be mild.Just afterlunch l receivedanother call, at work.lt's saidthat peoplesay strange thingsunder stress or when stunnedby shockingnews. Sor4t boss, can / have the rest of the day off? On/y my DadSl4st dr?d. I don't recallthe exact words of the reply,but "Go on, piss off out of here" was the gist, deliveredin as sympathetica fashionas the situationwarranted. Almost fatherly. Most of what followedwas typicallydreamlike. For the first time in my life I was "the man of the family", makingarrangements, greeting guests, shaking hands and thankingpeople for theirconcern. I spentmost of the time worryingabout mother,who went to piecesto such an extentthat she had even startedsmoking again (althoughshe has subsequentlyquit for the secondtime in her life).How did you expect her to be? She was alwaysthe stay-at-homewhile you were at Council,School Governors and the like.She'd always prayedthat out of the two of you, she would die first. When we "viewedthe body", she becamealmost hysterical and practicallycollapsed. Her friend Ruby was with us. fortunately,so I could have my momentalone. I was silent,but touchedyour cheek briefly.Christ. you were cold. Mothercried all the way throughthe serviceand the "reception"back at the house.All of the familywere very good, evenyour brother.I was beingthe good host,solemn and controlled,locking away any feelingsI might have had, only for motherto berateme laterwith "You neverseemed very upset when your father died". Now this dreamdisturbs me, so I felt I had to explainit to you, to put my side of the story.I know, I never cried. Father,forgive me.

4 DEATHCOMES CALLING bira Shearman

It is eightyears since Wendy died.There is stilla hole in my life.lt is a minorirritation, like the hollowin my mouth that never quite filled in after I had my wisdom tooth removed.I live with it but I feel the lack. For her parentsit is an abyss... I rememberthe day she died. She had been due to take an exam in the departmentwhere I workedand I had askedthe friendwho was co-ordinatingthe studentsto let me knowwhen she got in. I thoughtit would be nice to arrange a night out to celebratethe end of term. I was rather taken aback when he said she hadn'tshown up. I checkedagain the next day to find that nothinghad been heard,so I checkedwith some of her classmatesand then phonedmy Mum.Wendy was missing.lt seemsthat her clotheshad been found on the bankof the riverTay and Wendywas beingsearched for... A keen swimmerand sub-aqua enthusiast,Wendy was thoughtto have gone for a dip off Wormit beach, just upriverfrom the Tay Bridge.The currentswere bad there,and if a swimmerwent too far out or got into any sort of difficultythe river dragged them under. In this case her parentsonly had to wait ten days before her body was washedup down the coast.Sometimes the rivernever gives up its dead. That is a devastatingthing to come to terms with,the death of a friendyour own age. Somehowit makes you vulnerabletoo. In the front line. Death beeomes somethingreal and imminent,not far away and somehowromantic, But Wendy was not the first of my friendsto die young, nor was she going to be the last.Over the yearsthe listhas grown,the newshas becomeeasier to believebut not to accept. We neverhad many pets when I was young.All that theoryof teachingchildren about life and death sort of passedme by. I liked keepingfish (the only pet I was allowedat the time),but earlyacquaintance with the fish you win at fetes made me quite philosophicalabout their lifespan.lf they died you buriedthem and bought a new one. There was the morbid fascinationwith graves and all the paraphernaliaof death when I was about 11. At school we had to bury one of the hamsters,and I rememberspending most of my breaktimestending the graveand buildingbigger and bettermemorials to the animalwe had lovedfor three years. About this time my paternalgrandfather died, but it didn't impingeon my immediatelife. I was considered too young to attendthe funeraland he had neverbeen a big part of my life;we didn'teven live in the same town- Although I kn.e..14rlhe loss in my head I didn't feel it in my heart. I was much more fascinatedby death as a romanticabstract than as a realitywhich might affect me. Yes,l becameateenager,andagonised over the lady of the Camelliasand read endlesslyof the FirstWorld War and Arthurranlegends. The futilityand inevitabilityof death was somethingshining and wonderfulto me. I lived in a world where consumptionwas a gentlecough, a few spots of blood on a handkerchiefand a slippingaway to a better world. Death in battle was somethingto glorify,my dreams and storieswere peopledwith paleyoung poetswho sacrificedthemselves for theirfellow men. I didn'tthink of the other side of things:the humanrealities of blood and pain and infection;soldiers in dirty littledressing stations losing limbs because of gangrene;mustard gas victimsliterally coughing their guts up whilepoliticians made propagandavictory speeches. Someone should have broadened my readinghorizons a bit, althoughthe thingsI was readingat the time reallypulled few punches.Perhaps it was just my attitude of mind and my age. I was the sort of teenagerwho walkedalone, who wore blackas often as possible,who sat in darkenedrooms burningincense and listeningto LeonardCohen albums... and I meanthe earlyones that madeyou feel cuttingyour throatwas the only rightthing for a humanbeing to do. Death was never a taboo subject as far as I recall.To me it was fascinating,but in an abstract,intellectual way. I mourned long and creativelywhen one of my favouriteactors died, I wrote poems and drew pictures for him, even learned to play the guitar so I could play a piece that he had played on TV. Yet death that should have been more immediate and personal didn't seem to affect me as much. My maternal grandmotherdied, and the parentsof two of my schoolfriends,but althoughthese events rippledthe surface they didn't stir the depths.I still romanticised,I stillwanted to die young and beautifully,leaving a shining legacy. DEATHCOMES CALLING

What finally put paid to that was the death of two of my friends.lt was Easterand Anne was drivingup from Edinburghto Wick to visit her parents.The car was involvedin a crash,and Anne died in the helicopteron the way to hospital.My mothertold me when I phoned home the next day, havingheard it on the radio.I was stunned.I went throughthe motionsof phoningthe otherfriends who knewAnne and sent flowersto a familyI did not know.Anne was a young teacherwho had come to my schoolwhen I was in the sixthyear. She neveractually took any of my classes,but due to our involvementin variousschool clubs Anne and I and anothergirl, Sue, becamevery closefriends. We had kept up with each otherwhen I left school,making a point of gettingtogethor in the holidayswhenever possible, swapping stories and recommendingbooks. I stillhave the lasttwo booksshe lentme. Annewas 26. Lessthan a week laterI had a messagefrom the DomesticBursar of the Hallsto phone home. I couldn't thinkwhat was wrong,but felt that somethingwas. I phoned.My mothertold me that Sue was dead,could I phoneTricia? Somehow there was no disbelief,Anne's death had preparedme in a way. But Sue had been so alivewhen l'd last seen her at Christmas.She was young and in love and full of plansfor the future.I calledTricia, who was also a schoolfriendand shareda flat with Sue in Glasgowwhere they were both studying English and Drama. lt seemed Sue had been ill with 'flu, must have had some hitherto undiscoveredheart defect and had done too much too soon. So now, a mere ten days after her 21st birthday,she was dead.This personI had knownand lovedas a friendsince we first met at the age of six was lyingon a slab in a Glasgowmortuary. The realityof it all cut throughthe dreamlikestate I had been in since hearingabout Anne, and I reactedin the way I usuallyreact to shock: I dashedback to the flat and tnrewup. Anne'sdeath, Sue's death,arranging time off for the funeral,keeping an eye on Sue's littlesister who had Justcome back to Universityfor the startof term; there was so much to do. lt had snowballed.Death had come and stirredthe depths and I had difficultyreconciling myself. I grew up a lot that week. I wasn't sure I couldface the funeralbut I went,and I'm glad I did. I had neverbeen to a funeralbefore and wasn'tsure what to expect.A small huddleof family,I suppose, and a few friends.We arrivedat the cremmiein Maryhilla few minutesearly and met up with a couple of iriendswho had come throughfrom Edinburgh..In the chapelthere were flowerseverywhere, and people- hundredsof young people- all Sue's friendsand classmatesfrom Glasgow.Down at the front was Sue's rnumlooking very smalland pale by herfriends and her remainingtwo daughters. When the coffin was brought in an irreverentthought enteredmy head, and I had to suppressa giggle becausein my mind I could hearSue herself,talking about her own father'sfuneral: "l hope the pallbearers don't trip!" Afterwardsa largegroup of us went back to the flat she and Triciahad shared.We ate and we drankand most importantlywe talkedand talkedabout Sue (andAnne to thosewho had knownher as well). i cried a lot that day and laugheda lot, and somehowgot the feeling that althoughAnne and Sue had gone from my life they hadn't gone very far. I felt a lot better by the time I was on the train back to Aberdeen. I knew that even if I missedthem I was richerfor havingknown them. Even now, thrrteenyears on, I think of them, especiallySue. I now livejust down the road from wherethey livedwhen we were at school.On my way to work I pass the canal bank where we playedexplorers. I still find poems I want to sharewith her, and I stillkeep up with her motherand sisters.In a way we are closer friendsthan if she had not died. Our liveswould havegone in differentdirections and we would havedrifted apartand lost contactwithout realising it. But now she is with me all the time,with me and the others.Anne, Sue,Ann (who died of a strokeat 26),Willy who was an RAFpilot who crashed,Bruce who had TB and left a wife and two young sons,Wendy, and now my father. I cannot be sorry for my father.I miss him, but he had been very ill and death was a release.I mourn for those of us left behind. I do not fear death, death and I are old friends now. I have no illusionsabout it, but I do not fear it. My celtic nature accepts death as an integralpart of life. When I die I don't want my friends sobbing into a couple of ham sandwiches,I want a proper Celtic wake, a damn good party where people can sharetheir memories and comforteach other.We did thisfor my Dad.The servicewas hard(for a family who prefer to emote in private),but my brother, sister and I made sure that as many people as possible came home afterwards.lt made things easier for friends and later on easier for my mother to reestablish contactwith those friends.Everyone seemed to be enjoyingthemselves and we ended up with two couples DEATHCOMES CALLING

who had known Mum and Dad for over forty years stayingon and telling storiesfrom their sharedyouth. In short,we all felt it was a party Dad would have enjoyed,and that's how it should be. When deathwas a more immediateprospect everyone accepted it. I don't thinkit's a good thingto become inuredto death but there is no point in being embarassedby it. In one sensemy fatheris gone. I have no regrets,I told him how much I loved him, he knewwhat I felt.We talked.We stilltalk, as I do with Sue and Anne and Wendyand all those others.At this time of year,when the leavesare turningand the Celticday of the Dead looms, I feel them close, they stand close to my chair as I write this. l'm not afraidof these ghosts,they are not scary. Theyare comforting.

ONGS FORTHE DYING Kev lWcVegh

Hope / die betrore / get o/d. PeterTownsend of the Who, My Generation,1967 Hape / get o/d before I dr'e. lan McNabbof the lcicleWorks, 1990. They say the oevil has all the best tunes, and he seems to have the best band too. The list of performers who died young is endless,from Billie Holidayand CharlieParker through Buddy Holly, Marc Bolan and beyond.Even greater than this list,however, is the modernmythos which surrounds dead rockstars. Drugsand drinkhave taken a significanttoll, includingJanis Joplin, Elvis Presley and KeithMoon. Given the excessesto which these, and others, lived every day, it is perhapsnot surprisingthat this body count is so high. Led Zeppelindrummer John Bonham,for instance,reputedly drank forty vodkasthe night he died; whilst Bon Scott of AC/DC was too drunk to be lifted from the car by his friend, who left him to sleep it of{, only to find him dead the next morning.Like Jimi Hendrixa decadebefore, Scott's death had been a tragic accidentas he chokedon his own vomit. Evenamongst those who had managedto give up drugs,there have been fatalities:Philip Lynott, who had earlierrecorded Knqb Ca//about Presley'sdeath, eventuallydied himselfof heart failureafter years of drug abusehad left him vulnerableto seriousinfections. Singer Nico alsoquit heroin,only to havea heartattack afterfalling from her bicyclein the southof France.Another srnger, Johnny Thunders of the New York Dolls, did die, at least inasmuch as his heart stopped beating on the doctor's table, but it was restartedsoon enoughfor Thundersto dine out at reporters'expense for yearsto come. Almostas many died in car and plane crashes:Eddie Cochran,Duane Allman, Ricky Nelson, and half of LynyrdSkynyrd. A few survived:Bob Dylan,Billy ldol, and Def Lepparddrummer Rick Allen who lost an arm, but Cliff Burton of Metallicadied when the tour coach skidded on a bend, throwing his sleepingbody throughthe window.The deathof RandyRhoads was even more bizarre.TheOzzyOsbourne band guitarist hired a light plane to fly over the tour bus in which Ozzy was sleeping.After a couple of low passes,the plane clipped the bus with a wingtip and cartwheeledinto a nearbyhouse. The inquestrevealed that the pilothad beenfreebasing cocaine before the flight. Drugs also played their part in at least one violent death, that of jazz musicianJaco Pastorius,who was murderedoutside a Miamiclub in a disputeover a deal. His wasn't the first rock 'n' roll murderby a long way, that honour probablygoes to "The King of the DeltaBlues singers"Robert Johnson. The man who ONGSFOR THE DYING

"went down to the crossroads" to make a deal with the devil paid his part of the bargain in disputed circumstancesin 1938. Some accounts say he was stabbed, others say shot, and poison has also been mentioned.Enter Sam Cooke,shot whilstallegedly raping a woman; MarvinGaye, shot by his fatherwho objectedto the sinfulnessof his son's performances;Felix Pappalardi,shot by his wife; and PeterTosh, whose assassinationmay have been politicalor may have been drugs related,but was in any event more successfulthan an earlier attempt on his former Wailers partnersBunny Wailer and Bob Marley.The latter lived long enough to develop terminal cancers, but was granted a hitherto unique accolade for a rock musician:a Statefuneral. The most famous murder in contemporarymusic historyhappened in New York (whereelse?) on December Bth, 1980.When Mark Chapmanshot John Lennonit shockedthe world, and providedYoko Ono with an albumcover photo of his broken,bloodied, distinctive spectacles. Not since MartinLuther King had such a public figure,and such a peace-lovingperson, met such a violentdeath, a death which impingedon the consciousnessof everyAmerican and millionsof othersas well.Ten years laterafter watching the Lennon memorialconcert, many people are intenselyrelieved that it was not Paul, George or Ringo who died! Curiously,nobody playingat that show decided to performHappness /s A WarmGun. PaulSimon, who isn't dead yet, wrote a song about Lennon,linking his death with JFK'sand anotherearly rock 'n' roll death: singerJohnny Ace was backstageat one of his own concertson ChristmasEve, 1954, when he lost a game of RussianRoulette. Perhaps this was suicide,perhaps not, but the death of protest singerPhil Ochs was deliberate.Ochs had begunin a similarway to Bob Dylan,but at some pointhis career falteredand he began to suffer depressions.After abizarre attack in Africa where he had his throat slashed, Ochs' voice was neverthe same,and amidstparanoia and a deep senseof failure,he took his own life. lt was latershown that he had reasonto be paranoid:the CIA had a huge file on him (as they also had on severalother rock musicians!)of some410 pages.Some still suspect their involvement in the mugging. Accordingto some sources,the deathof Joy Division'ssinger was announcedby John Peelwith the words: ''Bad news lads, lan Curtisis dead". Transcriptsof the radioshow proveotherwise. lt was a sad Peel who first spread word of the suicide,which came just days after recordingthe hauntingclassic Love M/ TearUs Apartin 1980,the song itselfsubsequently being murderedby PaulYoung. The rumoursounds much better though,doesn't it? Mysteryeven surroundsthe most recent rock death: stiv Bators,the former singerof the Dead Boys and Lords of the New Church,was found sitting on the pavementby his girlfriend,after apparentlyhaving been hit by a car. He refused her attemptsto get a doctor, preferringto sleep. He died of a brain haemorrhagein his Parisflat. Paris was whereJim Morrisonsupposedly died, but thereare manyof his fanswho "know" that the LizardKing is stillalive, a phenomenonsince echoed by ElvisPresley, never the mostoriginal of singers. It isn't just the starswho find death by rock 'n' roll, and there are many not mentionedhere. Amongst the payingcustomers who could forget MeredithHunter, beaten to deathby HellsAngels at Altamontwhilst the Stones played, not Sympathy for the Den/ as is generallysupposed, but Under My Thumb.In separate rncidents,two membersof NeilYoung's road crew died of drug overdoses,leading Young to writethe songs Tonrjhtb the Nrgh{ and Need/e and the Damage Doneas a comment on the use of drugs. Currentlyin the United States, Judas Priest are being sued because their record Staned C/ass allegedly causedtwo teenagersto commitsuicide, one of them takingthree yearsto die of gunshotwounds, during which time he made his allegations.An earliercase againstOzzy Osbourneover the song Sur'crdeSo/utron was thrownout by a judge becausethe flimsyevidence was untenable,but the latercase rs more worrying, despitethe defencethat the boys admitto havinggot drunkand smokedpot beforetheir "bizarrepact" (as the paperscalled it). Does rock music have that much influence?Do kids follow their idols even unto the grave?When I get depressedI listento LeonardCohen, and I ain't dead yet! On the other hand, Gram Parsonstook Rolling Stone Keith Richardsas a role model, but lacked the Englishman'sendurance. AlongsideNick Drake(suicide) and Tommy Bolin(drugs), Parsons must be one of the saddestlosses of the seventies. Even the literatureof rock music has often concentratedon the deaths of performers.lt providesthe plot in George R R Martin's The Armageddon Rag, and plays a significant role in lain Banks' EspedarTStreet tne ONGSFOR THE DYING

late Hawkwindmusician Robert Calvert's Hype, CharlesShaar Murray's Purp/e Days (a graphic adaptationof the life of Jimi Hendrix),Gregory Benford'sDorhg Lennon,several Lucius Shepard stories,Bruce Sterling's ltl/eSee ThrngsDrtrferent/y, and most recently John Gribbin's DonT Look Back Just occasionallythe reports are wrong, as when Paul McOartney's"death" was announced by people reading all sorts of crazy things into a record sleeve'sphoto, and when Holly Johnson was supposedly on board PanAm103 which explodedover Lockerbie,but he'd cancelleda few days earlier. Apart from Lynyrd Skynyrd,and almost anyone connected with Andy Warhol (only Holly Woodlawn,doing cabaret in Vegas (!) and "Litle Joe" Dallesandro(see John Waters' new film Cy Babytor what he does nowadays) are still living of the real life characters in Lou Reed's l4/a/kon the Wt/d 97e whilst Edie Sedgwick (the target of Bob Dylan's Just Lrke a Woman, The Cult's Edrb (Cno Baby), and the New Bohemians'Lrttle Mrss Samongst others) is one of the sixties'most notoriousvictims), the worst position in rock seems to be guitaristwith the Pretenders.Chrissie Hynde lost two partners,James Honeyman-Scott and Pete Farndon,in quick succession,both to drugs. On the other hand, all the members of the Grateful Dead are still alive, with the exception of three out of four keyboard players: Ron "Pigpen" McKernan succumbedto his alcoholism,Keith Godchauxdied in a car crash,and on July 26 1990Brent Mydlandwas found dead at home from unknown causes. I wonder if his successorwill be able to afford the insurance premiums? In the end, as Lou Reedsaid: The music rs a//. Peop/e shou/d drb for ft Peop/e are dyrng for euerythng e/se, so why not the musrb? Now who's going to tell Kylie? Other notab/e rock 'n'ro// deaths.' Mama Cass - heart attack; Hank WilliamsSr - anotherwho left fans disappointedby dying on his way to a gig; Sandy Denny - fell down stairs and died of heart failure; Woody Guthrie - emphysema and other illnesses;Karen Carpenter- victim of the male-dominatedmusic biz, she eventuallybeat anorexianervosa only to die of the strain on her heart,and be immortaliseda decade later by Sonic Youth's Tunrb(Song for Karcn) Les Harvey - the Stone the Crows guitaristwas electrocutedon stage, a fate similar to that of YardbirdKeith Relf; Razzle of HanoiRocks - unusualin thatthe driverof the car, singerVince Neil of Motley Crue, was convictedof vehicularmanslaughter, and ironicthat one of the first songs recordedby Hanoi rocks after Razzlehad replacedGyp Casino was Dead byXmas - the date of the accident?December 8th, 1985;Sid Vicious- whilston bailfor the murderof his girlfriendNancy Spungen.

o\q l- sce t Qqcsudd€,d bsu ho \c1\is \eqJ qch{ c\r({ foo. FAMOUS LAST WORDS

A/bertAnastas/A gangstel. Shotn a barberS chair /957. "Haircut!" Henry l4/ardBeecher; Congregafl'ona/rstpreacher (/8/3- /887) "Nowcomes the mystery," Ludwrg van Beethoven (/770-/827). "Friendsapplaud, the Comedyis over." Domnrque Bouhors, French grammanan (d /702). ''l am aboutto, or, I am goingto die. Eitherexpression is used." Anlhony J Drexe// /4 socra//te demonstrattng a newpisto/ th /893. "Here'sone you'venever seen before..." Hernich Hene (/797-/856), askedrf he was atpeace wth God. "Do not troubleyourself. God will pardonme: it's his profession." Kar/ Marx (/8/8-/883), asked by hrs housekeeper rf he had a frha/ message for the wor/d. "Go on, get out! Lastwords are for fools who haven'tsaid enough." W Somerset Maugham ( /874 - /965) "Dying is a very dull, dreary affair. And my advice to you is to have nothingwhatever to do with it." VrscountHen4t John Temp/e Pa/merston ( / 784- /865) "Die, my deardoctor? That's the lastthing I shalldo." John Sedgwrbh Amen'can Civil l4/ar Genera/ (/8/3-/864), peerlng over the parapet at the batt/e of Spolsy/uanm. "Theycouldn't hit an elephantat this dist..." SrTErnestHen4r Shack/eton (/874-/922), to hts doctor "You are always wanting me to give up something.What do you want me to give up now?" Tam b ur/an e ( / 336- / 405) "Neverhas deathbeen frightened away by screaming." Oscar Wde (/856-/9OO), ca//rng for champagne. "l am dying,as I havelived, beyond my means"

/o ONGSTO COMMITSUICIDE TO Compiled by Tara Dyson

Due/ (Propaganda) Love k|/i// Tear Us Apaft (Joy Divi- sion) This/s TheDay(The The) TrueFath(New Orde$ Cry Me A Biver (Julie London) /-etMe Down Easyffhe Stranglers) TouchMe(fhe House of Love) Everybody Loves You k'l/hen You?e Dead(The Stranglers) S/aughterefl Gutted and Heart- broken(Squeeze) Pear/y Gates (Prefab Sprout) Deathwtsh(Police) Reasons to be Mrserab/e (Part Ten) (Half Man Half Biscuit) The Face of Death (Robyn Hitch- cock and the Egyptians) Shake the Dlsease (Depeche Mode) Swansong(TheBig Dish) /so/afibn (Joy Division) Dream Wthin a Dream (Pro- paganda) Fockn' On Surdde (Carmet) Losing MyMind (LizaMinelli) Comment Te DtTe Adbu (Jimmy Somerville) Lo ue Hangouer (The Associates) / Can'tHe/p Myse/f(Orange Juice) A Forest(Fhe Cure) The Number One Song n Heaven (Sparks) The Begrnnrng and The End(OMD)

// DEATH Jo Rane

Death is the only certainty.We will all face it, perhapsmore than once in our lives.We my evade it, but sooneror laterwe all succumb. You will live as long as you live and you will die when you die. lt is inevitable,so why fear it? Why do we feel more sorrowfor a personwho dies young than for one who dies in old age? Life is what you make of it, after all,no matterwhat the length. We have no geriatric spice melange, not yet, anyway, Death in literaturecomes in many forms. My favourite deaths are in the Peter Beagle story Come, Lady Death, and in the Discworldbooks where Death is, if anything,too real. ln The Chr/dGardenDeath comes early becauseall other illnesseshave been cured - in the end the realvictim is childhood. We treat death differentlywhen it comes on a large scale; with a kind of superstitiousawe that quickly turns into a kind of sicknessas we are given,whether we want it or not, more and more informationabout the dead,what they were like,how they came to be in that place,who grievedfor them. We are broughtinto that vicariousgrief, we collectmoney for their familiesto assuageour grief at being alive.This time, thank God,not me. Yet death is not an end but a turning point, a new beginning,when we are judged on what went before.This rs true of many religions,whether your destinationis Heavenor Hell, or reincarnationupon earth to live a life agaln. Death can make you turn to religion,or turn away from it. lt was the deaths,within a relativelyshort space of time, of hruopeople whom I had known sincechildhood, one murderedparticularly viciously, the other of a virulentform of cancer, that turned me down the road which led me to become a Muslim,two years ago. Previously,I had neverreally given religion, or the ideaof God much credence. Deathis. But there has to be a reasonwhv. Doesn'tthere?

So,\* rn cn{q k\ls r{tqt$P f/ q 1r 1c^rnt- o c*rbo$ 6.ATnatlanS,Y\

/2 ORE OR LESSTHAN JUST LOVE DFLewis

When I first met her, she was not my wife, but the longer I grew to know her, the more I was convincedshe would one day become,if not mine,that of some bruteof a ne'er-do-well.So, for her sake,in a momentof neuteredselflessness, I asked her to marry me, ratherthan abandon her to a fate worse than death, if that's not a prettymeaningless phrase. I supposeI did beginto love her more than I could love any other human being,but whetherit was the true lovethat othersexperience, I am stilluncertain... even now. Today, things look differently.Yesterday, when I startedwriting all this down, not only did everybody in the streethave their thumb and indexfinger as far apartas possible,but even domes lookedlike pyramids.But today,the tops of the shoppingparade look as if theirchimneys are sunk to the waist in brick bubbles.She returnedto haunt me last night...assuming that she was dead in the first place.I shall never be certain.I xnew I shouldnever have startedwriting about her. lt was almostas if I were the one guiltyof bringingher back. For monthsnow, I have been sleepingalone in the doublebed we once shared...recalling the way she used to slide the lip of the sheet up and down, playingpeeky-boo with me, and rubbingmy feet with hers.Even in the pitch blacknesswe both usedto cherishthrough many a sleeplesshour of lovetogether, I could just discern her half of the bed rising up in even darker darkness.I never let her untwirl my pyjama cord, whilst I had alreadysewn up the fly. Love for me was cuddling.She nevercomplained, only rubbed harderwith her feet. Mary was her name. She once told me of a fatherwho never said anything,only grunted,having once interferedwith her as a child. The psychologywas beyond me, but it confirmedmy belief that marriage withoutme would havebeen her ultimatenightmare, worse than any fatherof doubtfulleanings. They do say that a spouse ls but an idealisedreflection of the respectiveparent. Last night,she returnedagain. In the darkness,I saw the breathingmound besideme. lt made tearscome to my eyes...real tears, not the ones I used to wet my face in the ensuitebathroom to obtain.The deepestagony, last night,was findingno night smile. Let me say here and now, I do not believein ghosts,especially those that pretendto exist by kicking up the bedcoversat dead of night.They're the worst sort,for existenceis a foul crime,where such existenceis impossible.My only weaponagainst them is disbelief.Giving them the senseof satisfactionover you would make them into monstersfar worse than ghostscan ever be. With this logicalresponse, I ignoredMary's pleasfor my acknowledgment.I just turnedover in the bed (as I often did followingmarital squabbles in the old days).My wrenchingsobs soon peteredout and,turning back, I foundthat therewas nothingin which to disbelieve,anyway. Today,I feel I can set out, for the first time, the exact circumstancesof Mary'sdeath. l must have known, once I got movingwith this diaryepitaph, that I would eventuallyreach this crunchpoint. After all, that was what it was. An amazingcoincidence of misfortune,her being in the street,slipping the yale key into our front door, when the chimneystack collapsed upon her with no priorwarning. There wasn't even any wind. Those sort of accidentsmake you believethat if God exists (in itself a farfetchedproposal), He must be an evil one. I heardher last scream,cut off in half blast.I was in the front room,you see, channelhopping on the TV, and I literallyfelt the place shudder and then the scream less than a split second later. I know the feelingwill stay with me forever,That loathsomecataclysmic sickness, Because I drdlove her. What lsaid earlierabout it being for her sake that I took her from the purviewof other men is all very well. But underneathit all, I loved her madly.To hear her stifled scream and to witnessthe bleedingsplinters of bone stickingthrough the low denierstockings, bones that the rubblehad pushedout from the bellydownwards, made me love her even more...if that were possible.I knelt in prayerand kissedthe feet that had once rubbed so tenderlyagainst mine... ignoring all the moon-eyed bystanders,none of whom had thought of callingthe ambulancemen. Withinmy own secretheart, I knew then she was dead. I blamedthe Building Societysurveyor. Madness hits you at times likethat. I felt likegoing roundto his high-falutinghouse in the suburbs(if I'd known the correct address)and doing him the direst mischiefimaginable. lf not him, the peoplewho palmedthe houseoff on us. Or the EstateAgent himself, who was a greasylooking spiv. lt was the way he showed us the photograph of the house back in his office. He had it at an angle, holding it betweenthumb and indexfinger. Mary said he probablytricked his wife out of the housekeepingallowance

/3 OREOH LESSTHAN JUST LOVE

he made her. Relivingthat day has at leastdone some good. The thing masqueradingas my dead wife has not returned.I write this now more out of duty than need. Soon it will peter out... much as it petered in. I think I must have needed to admit to myself all the cruel detailsof the accideni.Accident? | still believesomeone pushed it off the roof. Perhapsthe husbandshe would have marriedif it had not been for me gettingin first.She never actuallytold me whether her father was still alive. I always assumed he was dead, though. I never pushed her into describingwhat he did, The word "interfere"seemed to covera multitudeof sins.Some say there is no such thing as rape,but l'm not so sure.All thosewho believea woman "asksfor it" oughtto look deeply into their own hearts. She came back last night.lt was Maryfor realthis time,complete with nightsmile. I untwirledthe cord all on my own, even beforeshe had the chanceto ask me. lt seemedall so much easiernow she'sdead. Better to believe in ghosts than the love of a man for himself.I think she'll come again.The central heating hums all night now that the cold weatheris upon us. I can't standtoo many coverson me. Givesme claustrophobia, which is only one phobiathis side of frigidity.Although one guiltcan hide another,the act of peteringout is nevercomplete.

EARLYMO RN ING,ALMOST ANYWH ERE rtson Scott

To the song: 'When /'m Sixty-Four'

Ethelwas tired when she woke, which was not so unusual.She lay listeningto the alarmand feelingthe assortmentof pains in her back and legs. After a moment, she shut it off and swung her feet slowly to the floor, groping for slipperswith her toes. She walked over to Arthur's room, buttoning her housecoatas she went. "Morning.love," she greetedher husbandas she enteredthe room. "How are you feeling?"Arthur didn't reply, but he awoke and stared at the ceiling.She sat beside him and began to maneuverhim into a sitting position,feeling the strainthroughout her body. Eventuallyshe managedto get him stableand proppedup the pillows."lt's a lovelyday," she continued."l'lljust go and makea littlebit of breakfast." She made porridgefor Arthur,and tea and toast for herself.Taking a spoon and a cloth, she began feeding him, littleby little,chiding a bit when any got dribbledor spilt."Ooh, you oughtto be more careful."Later in the morningthe nursewould be comingto help out, but for breakfastshe had to manageon her own. She caught sight of the overgrown garden as she ran water for the dishes, and found herself fighting back a quicktear. Arthur had always been proud of his garden, and had planned to grow vegetablesfor the County Show when he retired. Only ten months away, and now she knew it would never come. Instead her days were spentcaring for a husbandshe no longerknew, and her nightsin fitfulsleep, missing his presence. Finishingthe washing up, she managedto stop wishingfor a quiet life, and took her tea into the front room to awaitthe arrivalof the nurse.

/4 UK DEATHSBY CAUSE,1976

(rn thousands) - Ma/es (n thousands) - Fema/es 327.7Deaths from naturalcauses 328.1Deaths from naturalcauses 103.2Coronary disease, angina 79.2Other naturalcauses 60.5Other natural causes 78.9Coronary disease, angina 54.4Respiratory diseases 57.8Cancer (except lung cancer) 46.0Cancer (except lung cancer) 54.1Cerebrovascular diseases 33.5Cerebrovascular diseases 50.2 Respiratorydiseases 30.1Cancer of the lung 7.9 Cancerof the lung 5.6 Accidents 6.3Accidents 5.3Transport accidents 2.3Transport accidents 2.6Suicide 1.7Suicide 0.7Homicide and war 0.4Homicide and war 0.1 Pregnancy,childbirth, abortion Source.'Book of Bntsh Lists, Ham/yn /98O

/5 TRETCHERBEARER S VOUay

Gau/ Caesar'sovenruhelming sweep through Europewas neverthelessnot withoutrts casualties.The Unknown Soldierhad merely twistod his ankle due to a poorly-fittingsandal, and fallen unfortunatelyupon a rock which knocked him senseless.There he was left, for even had he been aware, he was in no condition to march.After days of forced immobility,and then the wastingof preciousenergy crawling for water,the end was near.Something in him calledout to namelessGods for deliverance. He was answeredin due course. Jerusa/em Wars fought in the name of religioneventually came to be consideredas one of the most fruitlessexercises imaginable.After a greaterperiod of time, this opinionwas extendedto includeall arbitraryideologies. For the UnknownSoldier, this realisationcame much more quickly.The Saracenshad left him for dead, a fatal slashexposing his intestinesto the cruel eveningshy, althoughnot quite enough for a swift dispatch,but more than enough to ensure an eventualdemise through cumulativeloss of blood. As the dark red stain grew aroundhim, he renouncedeverything which had broughthim this far, callinginto questioneach of his previouslystaunchly-held beliefs, one by one. His curseswere heard. A/abama He could see the cotton mill from his awkwardposition in the grass.lt lookedlike a mirage,or something from a half-remembereddream of times past throughhis one remainingeye. After a time, the vivid mist began to cloud what remainedof his faulty vision,and as he could not move his hands to ensure his continuedexistence, darkness of an unnaturalkind set abouthim. The UnknownSoldier lay isolatedfrom the world of guns which seemedto be all he had ever known.He felt his leg at last,only to endure the sensation of some smallanimal gnawing away there. Prayer was long past,and as the hatredand despairwelled up in him,the silentcry went out. His cry was acted upon. Ypres Drowningis probablyone of the most appallingways to die. Like suffocation,the victim's ordeal seems rnterminableto him, and filledwith pain.Drowning in wateris unpleasantenough, but thereare the even less pleasantalternatives of quicksandand, worst of all, mud. The UnknownSoldier was simply trapped,held securelyby the suckinglamia of the sea of sufferingaround him. No one could do anythingto help another. Panic in the terrible isolationof helplessnessamong thousandseventually gave way to a ridiculouslycalm acceptanceof the inevitabilityof what was to occur. But after a time, when every breath begins to draw in a quantityof slime,the pain begins,and comes to reachan intolerablelevel. lt is impossibleto screamwhen you are drowning.lf you try, this merely acceleratesthe pain. He felt his brain could explode with the unvoicedhorror of whatwas happeningto him. His painwas eased lVagasaki Those killedoutright at impactwere the lucky ones.The burningof the flesh,the blindnessand the agony rnflictedevery victim with even a small sparkof life left after that holocaust.There were so many cries of anguishreaching the skiesthat day that the Deitycalled upon could only haveheld up his handsin absolute horrorat the inhumanityof it all.Thousands upon thousands of cries,but no answer. No answer.

/6 TRETCHEHBEARER

Hyperspace The UnknownSoldiers rested in splendidcomfort. Fountainsplayed about their feet, and appealingservants ministeredto their every whim or desire.The coucheswere tailoredspecifically to their needs, and no desire or addiction was denied any of them. They all knew it could only be temporary,having been taken from certaindeath into the service of a new Commander-in-Chief,who would only ever admit that action might lay "at some time past, or to come". For occasionalamusement, they watched their old world turn, and studied its machinations.On this last occasion,they asked Him the question,why no action had been taken to savethe sufferers. The only responsewas long and hollow laughtor,but after a time, the whisperedreason was communicated amongthem. Mithrasonlv looksafter his own.

>.- i'>1-j>5q

t \ t \ ( \' \, btain \ -D-L

/7 DEATHSHEADREVISITED Cardrnal Cox

Motto.' Beau( rs on/y skn deep, beneath that we fnd on/y ug/iness. 1981.Dave writes some distinctlysurreal plays which feature Flemmish Lemming ("the infamousthingy band with a distinctlack of bassguitarist" - The AyatollahKhauliphlower). And Eddie"Allouiscous" Ursine knows, he knows,he knows.. / /rke drssechng corpses Through the mang/e theygo B/ood and guts eve4twhere Legs up mynose Eyeba//s on the wa// Stomachs on the f/oor / /ove drssecilhg corpses. Examiningthe entrails,the futurethat's shown is not as it turnsout. 1982.Ffemmish Lemming record their first album-lengthcassette, 'SeveredArmpft"(PBBR 13). These are the daysfollowing the failedrevolution. Death-squads stalk the streets. Swrngrng corpse, n the breeze Swnging corpse, hrdden by trees Swrngrng co/pse. broken knees. Botting f/esh, on hrs frame Boa/ng flesh, got no name Rottrng f/esh, n the dran. Scampering rats, runnrng by Scampenng rats, swarms otrf/bs Scampenng rats, golng to dr'e. Grbbetted man, hung tr// dead Gibbettedman, was he Fred? Grbbeted man. has no head. This tape also marksthe startof a short associationwith an authorwho cannot be named. Six months later they record their second tape with a new drummer. ln the Orwelliantradition, the Governmentuses a limitedwar to rallythe population.Deep beneathWhitehall the High Wizardsand Grand Masterscontact long-slumbering deities to acceptthe sacrificedsouls. / wanna be a war hero / wanna get the gr7/s / wanna be a warhero / wanna fight for my count4/ / wanna be a war hero / wanna get a meda/

/8 DEATHSHEADREVISITED

l4/arherc, war hero / wanna be marmed and dis/ocated ltl/ar hero, war hero / wanna be wounded by a forergn gun / wanna be a warhero / wanna be apawn n apo/ihbrbnbgrame / wanna be a war hero / wanna dr? for what / be/ieve / wanna be a war hero / wanna have my name on a stone l4/arhero, war hero Young enough to dlb but not to drnk War hero, war hero Young enough to k/// but not to vote. "Catb Prss"(PBBRlB)

1983 had "Cabbage"released, hitting the unsuspectingcollection of CultureShock Troopersand Death CampFollowers which madeup theirfans, Expenments on Babr?s. So you want to //'veforever /n a hrghnse pressure home Wth no worries bout catcfung cancer Oranythng n a germ Andyou don'l care bout hauing babies So youT/ /et us grow them a// /n our tanks andg/ass test-tabes /l/hr/eyouTe a// //vr'ngpretty. Experiments on babrbs That we grew n the vats Experiments on babtbs The spares of ourbraye new wor/d. You forbade Lls rats and monkeys You forbade us those gunea-pbs Now you give us /rtt/e babrEs fo do experiments wth A /ot safer in lhe /abs Un/essyotr want Tha/rdomrde No-one wants them anyway

/9 EATHSHEADHEVISITED

No-one cares about unborn children You ?e a// gnded and predetermined Youhe a// numbered before the womb To the t//ness of the wor/d l4/e have made you a// rTnmune Give us thrs day our dar/y dead For the spare parts you demanded For the high-/eve/ surgery So you can /rue forever. (PBBR26) As well as Dave's harsh guitaring,this also featureda miked-up kitchenwaste disposalunit devouring variousitems. 1985saw the fourth cassettealbum recorded.This was called 'Dead /l,/enEat No Brsquits"and includedthe Ballard-influenced "Car CrashEvent Curve Song" and the charmingly titled 'Choko/ate Cake'l lre got a loy at home /ts a chainsaw (shrny bright) t po/rsh it wrth /ove and care And then at n/ght / can punrsh naughfii boys andgir/s 'Cause Mummy a/ways sard 'Naughfii chr/dren get what they deserue". I don'tmean choco/ate cake. /t runs on petro/ / have to be calefu/ 'Cause it might hurt me one day / don't mean choco/ate cake. "Naughtlt chi/dren get what they deserue" 'Cause Mummy a/ways sard I can punish naugh/ boys andgir/s ll/hen /go out And then at n/ght / po/rsh rt wrth /ove and care /ts a chainsaw lsh/ny br/ght) /'ve got a toy at home. (PBBRss) 1986. The last recorded full-length collection was "Occasrbna/ Users of the Spare Bedroom at No.22 (PBBR42).This is possiblythe best collection,and neatlysums up the wholeattitude of FlemmishLemming:

20 DEATHSHEADREVISITED

from the death-trips of 'Lrke Loeb and Leopo/d"and "Axe Parfii"Ihrough to social comment with 'Amerka" and 'F/udfrom the Slart"to humour with 'Surf Erder'l Appa/achian Moun tain Chi/d Appa/achian Mountan Chr/d Gone wr/d n the Spn'ng,gone wi/d, gone wi/d Mad lke a dog in the hot noon sun She knows thatshe's the on/y one. Appa/achian Mountan Chi/d Gone wrldn the n/Aft gone wld, gone wr/d Moonshne touched her dancing head Shes a//ve and /m ha/f dead. Appa /ach ran l//o L/nta in Chld Gone wr'/dn the streets, gone wrld gone wr/d Sugarb sweet and so is she She a/ways says she don't need me. Appa/achnn Motrntan Chr/d Gone Md n the su/7,gone wt/d, gone wrld Dances /ike a thrng possessed Lrkes to thnk she knows best Hallowe'en 1987 saw the recording of the Flemmish Lemming single "Chnstmas,Oh Christmas" blw Arishrps over G/adstone Street". fh/s is the song ol a mystica/ p/acq a p/ace that is c/ose to our hearts. /n thts p/ace magica/ things can happen, thrs rs a p/ace where ilme f/ows at a difterent rate. /l p not an ancrbnt monument nor a natura/ feature but a street n our home town. Solitst as the Beat/es sang of Penny Lane, we decrded to do a song of our magba/ road Thrsrs a/so a true slory... Airshrps over G/adstone Street Whatdhe have to dr/hk? Airshrps orer G/adstone Street ll/hat?e we supposed to thrnk? ArTshrpsover G/adstone Street Saucers n my head ll/hen you re on the beal (my son) You'// wrshyou7e home n bed. YouTe not the first my son You wr//not be the /ast Spotted over cathedral L/ghts are spnnrng fast On the morn/ng of March 23rd /909 a Po/r?e Constab/e heard the sound of a motor car As he contnued

2/ DEATHSHEADREVISITED

down Cromwe// Eoad he sudden/y rea/rsed the sound was comthg from above. On /ookrhg up he saw a brlght /Uht attached to an ob/ong bod.1zThis crossed the ntght s/ry at hrgh speed. (PBBR45) Anotheralbum's worth of materialexists, though this is unlikelyto be recorded.Unfortunate, when you consider the quality of 'Justine'i "We Are a VrTus'i 'Henry, YouTe so Punk'i 'Do The Anthrax'i "Pyromania", "Unc/e JrmiS a Chrbken Farmer Now"and "lVhen the Wor/d Becomes a B-Movrb". She s a//ue E/ectrica//y They say she's dead BLlt that an't for me Home at n@ht / dream olher hatr They don? admft it ButsheS somewhere. / see herphoto On a magazne They ta/k otrpeop/e That she had been Mutated auras lAere on her mnd And n my dreams She s not htrman knd Peter Peler You heard her /ast / knowambu/ances They?e neuer fast AndJack we// You drbd so soon l4/e lve your dreams Men on the moon But /ate at nlght Thepicture shows The wor/d's death /ove Grows andgrows l/ve see you You7e eve4twhere Ca/endarsyouTe Not naked but bare.

22 DEATHSHEADHEVISITED

when Daphne was buried Of course, other ideas have been kicked around: A song for "Neighbours" for and even the Ruritanian (,'c/arky / /ove you, urgh'), and for the politically aware ('Free Char/b Manson') lethargyhad infectedour valiantband' world cup Footballsquad song. But none of theie came through,as Personnel:Dave MillsoP (Guitars) EddieUrsine (Vocals) AndyWinn (Drums, PBBR13, PBBR4S) lec Gf90 (Drums,some electronics) LittleTommy Ursine(Choir, PBBR4S) Discography:1982 PBBR13 SeveredArmpft Album-lengthcassette

n t lalm-lonrrti -, ae :.strtto 1982PBBR18 CatS Prss Album-length cassette 1983PBBR26 Cabbage Album-lengthcassette 1985 PBBR39Dead Men Eat No &squits Album-lengthcassette 1986 PBBR42 Occasrbna/ Users of the Spare gedroom at No.22. Album-lengthcassette 1987 PBBR4S "Chnstmas.Oh Chnstmas" Single, blw 'Anshhs over G/adstoneStreet,'.

RW (l of,sl

Qrnat\tl Qr\\qJr q Sqoce.

s*JD,t{o, a *^,r\ o. r^n.jh\g Yomg.

23 NE MAN'SHEAVEN osdana Dubh

athedralruins at midnight-a plaintivecry

ull moon unlockedby clouds, drivenever on to nowhere. wind thatwhistles through empty windows the lonelv neck the nowhereman, there the corner,writing none shallever see hisfading lifetime. crowd,partying drunk him,laugh, walk on, thevdidn't see empty hollowsoul a gapingshallow world. 's lookingfor someplaceto die preservehis status quo ino on to wherehe is: or Heavenand Hellare one.

24 HELLOFA JOB lan Creasey

Deathhas a long history.lt is not surprisingthat in ancienttimes, when therewere gods of everything from commerceto music,water to war,there was alsoa god for Death,a beingto givethe personaltouch to your demrse. The ancientswsre fond of anthropomorphisingtheir supernaturalbeings, and so even in the earliestmyths and stories, Death had reassuringlyhuman characteristics.Two of the stories collected by the brothers Grimm iffustrate this perfectly.In one, The GodfatherDeath, Death "prepareda large and fresh lamp; but he did it very slowly. in order to revengehimself": showing human emotion; in the other, Deathb Messengers, "the Giant got the best of it, and knocked Death down with his fist, so that he dropped like a stone": exhibitinghuman frailty. Given this tradition, it is not surprisingthat novels have been written featuring Death as a character;it is perhaps more surprisingthat we have had to wait tvvoand a half centuriesfor them. But the 1980swas a good decade for Death - he featured in the works of no less than three authors,Patrick H Adkins fictionalisedGreek mythology and turnedThanatos into a mad scientistconducting experiments delving into iorbiddenknowledge. Piers Anthony added ManicheanChristianity to twentiethcentury magic, creating the /ncarnationsof /mmorta/r4tseries,in which Death is a man who gets the job by killinghis predecessor.And Terry Pratchett'sDiscworld novels feature the Deathwe all know and love: he of the grinningskull, who speaksin hollowcapitals, and is fond of catsand curries. The conventionsof the novel demand that charactershave thoughts,emotions and motives.Applied to Death, this results in some interestingphilosophies. The three authors I have mentionedtake radically differentapproaches. The Adkins books - Lord of the Crooked Paths, and Master otFthe Feanru/Depths - deal with the interaction of the elderGreek pantheon. Power reigns supreme, and moralityis a flexiblenotion which Kronos,ruler of the gods, has inventedto furtherhis own ends. Deathis merelyone playerin this pageant- however,the depiction of Thanatosas a nervous misunderstoodscientist is unforgettable.He is an outcast among the Olympians,both for his distastefulpersonal habits and his disgustingexperiments into the nature of mortality.(He is almostthe reverseof VictorFrankenstein, since he attemptsto bringdeath to the immortals, ratherthan to bring life to the inanimate.)Whenever Kronos asks him for a progressreport, he stuttersin such fear that he can hardly speak. But Thanatoscan himselfinspire fear. Newly discoveredcreatures, miniaturegods calledmen, havean instinctiveaversion to him... Zane, the protagonistof Anthony's On A Pa/e Horse, has such an aversionto death that he manages to botch his suicide: he ends up killing Death rather than himself. He thus inadvertentlybecomes the lncarnationof Death,and has to learnhis job as he goes along.He discoversthat his functionis to weigh the balanceof sin and virtuein each borderlinesoul, and send the departedto Heavenor Hell accordingly. However,he becomes dissatisfiedwith the narrownessof this duty, and begins to expand his activities.He persuadesa would-be suicideto continueliving, and rescuesa man from drowning.Conversely, he also killsthose kept alive againsttheir will. lt is the latterwhich Anthonyseems to feel most stronglyabout - "Deathis the most sacredright of the living",says Zane in justification.He musesupon the causesof death, concludingthat most are avoidable,and the purposesof life;and all this is a sidelineto the main plot,which concernsDeath's battle against Satan. The novelends by sayingthat the qualitywhich Deathshould have is compassron. But how can Death be compassionate?ln Mort,the Discworld'sDeath says that the compassionproper to his trade is a sharpedge. The novel is funny,but it is fundamentallybleak. Death is whoeverdoes Death's job; he is merely an anthropomorphicpersonification. Having tried fishing,dancing, gambling and drink, allegedlyfour of life'sgreatest pleasures, he doesn'teven see the point of life. "There'sno justice- there's just me", he says."Everybody gets what they think is comingto them. lt's so much neaterthat way." This outlook - which also lies behind the other books of the series- is depressing,but also more horribly plausiblethan Anthony'sbasic optimism.The responsewhich the Discworldevokes is laughterin the dark, defyingthe ultimateindifference of the Universe.

25 HELLOF A JOB

In summary,the above Deaths are all valid in their own unique ways. They all do their job, whether enthusiastically,incompetently or indifferently.In the end, it is comfortingto think that someone will attend our extinction- no matterhow weird that someonemav be.

UICIDEPLAYLIST #2: MARCALMOND Compiled by Tara Dyson

SOFT CELL MARC ALMOND Non-Stop Erotic Cabaret (1981- BZMC 2) Stories of Johnny (1985- T FAITH1) Frustrattbn Stories of Johnny Say He//o, Wave Goodbye Love Letter Non-Stop Ecstatic Dancing (1982- BZM 1012) Vermine in Ermine (1986- unknown) What Tendernesss a y'Veakness The Art of Falling Apart (1983- BIZ LC3) A Woman's Story (Some Songs to Take to the Tomb) (1986- T GLOW212) Lov/ng You Hatrng Me For One Moment TheArt of Fa//rngApart Mother Fist and her Five Daughters (1987 - T This Last Night in Sodom (1984- BIZ LC6) FA|TH2) Surrender to a Stranger There /sA 8ed Sou/ /nsrde MrSad MARC AND THE MAMBAS Ruby Red Stained EP (1987- unknown) Untitled (1982- BZM 13) /m Stbkof you Tastrhgof SomebodyE/se Untft/ed The Stars We Are (1988- TCPCS7324) Caro/ne Says These My Dreams Are Yours /f You Go Away On/y The Moment Torment and Toreros (1983- BIZLC4) Jacques (1989- BREL1C) /n MyBoom A/one B/ack Heart MyDeath Narcrssus Enchanted (1990- TCPCS7344) G/oomy Sunday Orpheus n Hed Vehtet forment A Mi//rbn Manrbs My Lrtt/e Book otrSorrows

26 FTERTHE FIRSTDEATH Helena Bodes

The threadis spun oy the virgin,the flax pullingand thinningin her slim,calloused fingers. She concentrates on teasing and twisting, obliviousto the heat, noise and sensation.The woman measuresthe thread. She dances and pants, sweat like molten drops of mother of pearl stands out on her cheeks and temples, a nacreoussheen on her chest leadingdown betweenthe heavybreasts. Sensation and distractionare her life as she carriesthe tangledskeins of blue-glowingthreads throughout the streetsof the world. Then ck! go the scissors.Ck! Snap!The old woman is jaded and bored by the shallowpursuits and vain posturingsthat are the concernsof the world. Ck! Snap! Randomlyshe seversthe threads,sometimes wherethe woman wishes,sometimes not. What does she care?She of the clickingshears and final power; she who has masteryof the gatherer. My first was old, easierperhaps. Green as cats' eyes and strainingto hide it, given a choice of course I could handleit. The door openingonto a yellow-dimshuttered room, strangethick air, half sweet smell of rnfection-decay-disease.Sheet covered shape on the bed. First impressions:dry, open mouth, rim thick-caked.old yellowtissue paper stretchedover deep orbits,lax fleshfalling into toothlesscheeks. They drawthe sheet back,misshapen torso, deformed with age, disease,distended abdomen pregnant with fluid, gurglingand shiftingas the body rolls.Small fatless breasts flop low on ribcage,nipples horned with dead skin.I look into her eyeballs:open, dry, scum of mucusclouding one. Empty.lt is a betrayal. Bitternesspricks at my mouth. lll, I turn my gaze to the postage stamp prison barred window. Traffic grumblesand snortsall aroundthe nearbyflyover. 0740. In the world a woman gruntsand gives a yell oi pure strengthas she heavesher burdenof new life intothe clinicalair. A man pumpsand shoutsin the final dissipationof ejaculation.Two lovers kiss their helloes, two more part with harsh words. A woman with teased blonde hair applieslipstick with the aid of her rearviewmirror. Lives begin, continue,stutter in pain or boredomor transientjoy. She,however, is dead. I saw a man die, but later, when the protectiveveneer of professionalcynicism had coagulatedabout my vulnerability.I had one elbow hookedunder his armpitto leverhim higheronto freshlycrisp pillowslips.In mid hoist he exhaled,eyes closed and his chin flopped to his sternum,a thin tricklingof bloody vomit discolouringthe too small hospitalpyjamas, as obviouslydead as if he were alreadyworm-ridden and stinking. There are only two distinctdigital moments in life, two precisepoints in an analogueprocess. Alpha and Omega,beginning and end. Conceptionand death.Spermatozoon penetrating ovum, fusion of DNA, the spinningof the threadof life.All existenceand experiencefrom that pointis analogue- definethe moment of birth - tne onset of labour?The crowning? Full deliveryof the head? The feet leaving torn and bloody vagina?There is no finite moment- Puberty- an ongoingprocess. Loss of virginity- where is the line oetweeninnocence and experience- firsttouch of lips?First grope? Penetration? lf so, the firstkiss of cock to cunt or the full acceptanceof shaftwithin vagina? Or firstorgasm? No finite moment. Deathyou can see, empty houseshell devoid of sparkof full humanity.Call it departureof religiousconcept (soul) or explaintotal relaxationof muscles,even from sleep patternsunconsciously held and observed. Disturbingempty swellingpushing dark whispersof personalmortality into the front of our minds. Death, second measurableinstant, point of time when Atropos cuts the thread so that the flesh and bone marionettefalls to the ground revealingit a tangle of wooden limbs on a string.A string of biology.The threadof DNA runningfrom conceptionto death on which all our joys, painsand petty insecuritiesdangle and flap like flags in the wind. The sheet is at her knees, the origin of sweet-foul smell seen to be urine-faeces-vomitpooling on starchedsheet. They call me to help. Gagging at slimy-clotting-coffee groundsvomit slidingacross my hand.Teeth spasming, but I wr//notshow it. Gloveswould distance it, make it bearable...Silently we clean, sharp smell of urine and faeces coating scanty wisps of pubic hair, age havingwithered even that to exposethe secretfemale crevice. Gloves would maintaina barrier,ft p too rea/ but I did not know,/ dld not knowthe...cruelty of death. Perhapsthat is the worst.The indignity.Do not turn awayand hide,you will not escapeeither. My words are not for they,the stranger,the other - they are for you. You cannotbreak free of the finalobscenity - that it

27 FTERTHE FIRSTDEATH

does not matter.Whether you are Ozymandiasor Ahasueru,Cleopatra or a match girl, whetheryou hold the highestof high rankor arethe alcohol-soddentramp freezing to deathbeneath the bridge,your momentwill come and go with no bells,hosannas or trumpetsfor your passing.The worldswill not stop in theircelestial dance, no-one will notice as you take the first step towards the levellingdust; as your face takes on the slacklook of those kissedby the gatherer.Surrender at lastto his suit,go to his armsgladly. Lose yourself in his touch and do not look back, for to do so is to witnesssomebody's ultimate abandonment to his embrace to see the finalemptying of bladder,bowels and stomachin noxiousgouts onto starchedsheets. She is clean now, white sheet swathed, tied down human shape pulling memory association bandages-mummy-Hammerhorror schlock, giggling to cover,underneath disiurbance that now uncurlsand stalks to front of mind, lets loose subliminalfrissons of fear not present when actual fact of death was uncovered.I want to leave now, but the violationis not yet complete.The locker is emptied onto the bed. Treasuretrove of life's emotionalbaggage that I do not wish to be made aware of. The shape - there is no identity,just cold meat in human form that cannot cause me to fall upon my own sword of compassion,I do not wish to see the old photograph(a soldier- husband?lover? brother? is he aliveor... No! | will not think it), combs and mirror, handkerchiefand bus pass, purse with keys, evidence of a pitiful economy, lipstick (and I will not allow the pathosof this brokencreature's last humanvanities to strikea chord...I must not identify!),train tickets and letters,a necklaceand pens all duly recordedand ticked off in a safe and distant beauraucracy,I am safe,I am not touched,wounded or bleeding.Unscarred and unscathed.Last, to label the object with name and number,to categoriseand file. I reach for the medical notes to append the name to the list. The blade slices cleanly through major arteriesand I bleed, I bleed. No protectionsufficient to armour me againstthis lastrevenge.The dead womanbore my name. And I bleed.

\ '-.*----/ru*--,-.^

*--*-/A\---,2

\ \e,.rt c^\ s, b.\\

28 Guest of Honour: JAMESBLISH Sp eual fifanrfes ta tron by- L RON HUBBARD Medra Guest' MERRITTBUTRICK rtrst Guest of Honour-' KELLY FREAS

JULESVERNE H G WELLS IAINM BANKS Fan Guest of Honoar: BERNIEEVANS ON THEIMPROBABILITY OF MY EXISTENCE Barry J Bayley

Yes, well death, of course, or perhaps Death, or even D-E-A-T-H, is a subject close to my heart, I being one of those people who generallyfeel that life is not quite worth the trouble, not quite the full tvvobob, and occasionallyI have envied my elder brotherwho had the good fortune to be strangledby his own umbilical cord, or so I am told But why so gloomy,old chap, I hearyou saying,after all you haven'tgot long to go. lndeed,sir, indeed I have not. And that leads me to ponder my funeralarrangements. Increasingly in the modernworld, funeralsare likelyto be conductedby the deceased.Ah yes, and so I imaginefriends and relativesgathering and takingtheir places (with the absenceof my daughter,who has given advancenotice that she will be far too busy to botherwith such mediaevalnonsense), their emotions worked on by solemn, sonorousmusic shot throughwith hintsof passionand uplift- composedby myself,of course- and then, aftera trailing,floating chord, there suddenly appears on the largemonitor screen the face of the dead man, myself,to deliver my taped valediction.In it I shall remindthose in my captiveaudience of the transienceof life,impressing upon them theirown mortality,something along the linesof: "You who stillbreath the air and feel the sunlightupon your faces,remember that none of you knowsthat he will see tomorrow,and the time is briefbefore you meet the oblivionin which I now rest...".What a pity one cannotbe thereto see it, though I believethere have been those curiousenough to arrangeeven that,faking their deaths and attendingthe subsequent ceremony. Maybe that is a better arrangement?Paying one's respects to the soon- to-be-deceased, rather than to one just gone? | do feel that the undignifiedand bizarre bit of the proceedingis holding it in the presenceof the corpse.lt's a bit like holdinga public ceremonyover the disposalof one'sdung. So what is death? Has it ever struck you that most writers of parallel-worldnovels have got one itsy-bitsy little detail wrong? Usually the alternate Earths have different histories but throng with the people we know, though living differentlives - Hitler is a bicycle mechanic,Einstein is a dictatorand so on. But that simply couldn't happen. To rehearsewhat has often been pointed out, the pre-meeting odds against the arising of any individualare stupendous.First of all the parentshave got to meet, and as we know most people in the world never get to know of one another'sexistence. Then they have got to mate on a particularday when a specificovum has been releasedby the mother,and of the huge numberof spermcells made availablefor ejaculationby the father'stesticles that day, one specificsperm cell has got to penetratethe ovum first. Once that is done the genes from the respectivegerm cells have got to combine at random in our own particularpermutation, about like shufflinga pack of cards and having them come out in numbered sequencesuit by suit. It is astonishingthat I am here, especiallyas I have neverwon a lotteryin my life. On the other hand, historicalprocesses are large-scaleand perhapsdon't depend much on individuals. Thereis somethingto be saidfor the argumentthat historythrows up individualroles and shapescandidates to fill them. A parallelEarth might be almost indistinguishablefrom our own in its generalfeatures, but if it variedthe tiniestbit in its small-grainresolution it would be populatedby an entirelydifferent set of people. So what is death? That's easy. Death is all the people who once existed but now don't; death is all the peoplewho will exist but don't yet; but most of all, death is the vastlygreater number of peoplewho never will haveexisted. Shouldwe feel sorryfor them? Not unlessyou think there is some immaterial"store" of potentialpeople, only a tiny proportionof whom get expressedinto the air and sunlight(and not, of course,if you think there is an infinitenumber of parallel worlds in which every possible person gets expressedsomewhere). Death, really,doesn't exist. Life exists, but deathdoesn't. lt's one of those poeticalmisconceptions like love,something else peopleget anguished about.

30 N THE IMPROBABILITY-..

But enoughof morbidity.Let us not be negative.Instead we shouldbe concentratingon the excitingissues of today'sworld: for instance,why hasn'tthe EEC declareda decimalisedcalendar? The old one is far too arbitrary,much too unscientific.We could have a year of ten months,each of a regular4 x 10 days, each day divided into ten hours.Of course,this meansthat we shall have a day consistingof 0.913planetary rotations,but with our quartzwatches and computersand stuff,why, that isn't going to be any problemat all. Or what about the fascinatingphenomenon of synchronicity?Do you know that there are forty-eight houses on my side of the street,and I live at number forty-eight! Can that be coincidence ? /-think-not

DEATH'SDIARY lWarcAlmond (reprrnted without permission)

On MondayI took a flower, On ThursdayI took a woman Sevendays to create life Driedit in my hand, Heavywith child, And one day to destroy - Every woman,every man, Coveredit in poison My old friend Rape had paid a visit, Everygirland boy. And threw it on the land *On wastedground it triedto root Had stayed a little while -ln a Now as I close my diary back streetI touchedher Butchoked upon the sand. And l've made my finaldate, Witha wireand a smile. And there'sroom in my diary I blow away the ashes On FridayI took a city, Foryou, my friend. And I stoke the smoking grate Cursedit with a plague, -l've no distinctionbetween pain There'sroom in my diaryfor you. and joy, Powdered crystals, smoking On TuesdayI took a bird, prpes, No line twixt love and hate. Sucha painto hearit sing, To crush and to enslave- And a There'sno room in my diary I it with petrol row of dirty needles blackened Foryou, my friend. And its littlewings -l tainted Linesthe route onto the grave. oiled There's no room in my diary tor tne breeze On SaturdayI took a country vou. As I threwit to the wind. Prayingfor the rain, On WednesdayI took a man, He Parchedthroats and swollenlips beggedplease help me die, Without a harvest grain -And I For he lay in parnand suffering, wipedout generations, It made his loved ones cry -l can And I'd do it allagain. be terribleand gentle On SundayI took the world, ln the blinkingof an eye. A bombI did employ.

3/ UNTITLED Nna lMa&on

The thrillof the baseballgame. How it feels to run over the line, Feelthe wind rushingpast. How many secondsto first base? The thrillof the cliffedge. How would it feelto step over and fall, Feelthe wind rushingpast. *""u secondsto the base? :::

Sudden Deathgives no chanceto say goodbye. The slowdrip drip of blood intothe basin. Could anyone have said or done anythingto prevent that decisiontaken in solitude? CreepingDeath is drawn out and cruel to those that care,whose livesare bound To those who live on, minds fading like the curtainsof the sick room. Deathto one whose mind livesin a dying body, Whose husbandtreasures every look, everyword. How can he still insistthose were the happiesttimes of all?

32 DEATH:SOME TV MOVIES

DEA rH AMONG FBIENDS (/975) Fairlytypical lady cop murdermystery. DEATH AT LOVE HOUSE (/976) Unbelievableghost tale, but fun to watch screenveterans like DorothyLamour, Joan Blondelland John Carradine.Filmed at the impressiveHarold Lloyd estate. DEATr/ AE NOTPBOUD (/975) True-life dramatisationof John Gunther's1949 account of his son's battle againsta brain tumour and eventualdeath at age 17. DEATH CAB ON rHE FEEEWA Y (/979) Duel-type plot in which a maniacvan-driver terrorises lone women drivers.Lots of familiarfaces including MahoganyMan GeorgeHamilton, Frank Gorshin, and ShelleyHack as the leadinglady who forgetsto act. DEATH CHUlSE(/974) Depressinglyfamiliar disaster drama with depressinglyfamiliar cast. A DEATH lN CALIFOENIA (1985) Above averagethriller in which a socialitedevelops a love-hate relationshipwith the killerwho has raped and terrorisedher, as well as murderedher boyfriendbefore her eyes.In commonwith many of the filmson this page,features an ex-Charlie'sAngels cast member,in thiscase Cheryl Ladd. A DEATH lN CANAAN (/978) ls there nowheresafe? Actually a dramatisationof a Connecticutmurder case in which a local teenageris suspectedof the mutilationof his mother. DEATHMOON (t978) Witchcraftin Hawaii.Plodding. DEArfl OFA CETVTEBFOLD: TtlE DOBOTHY STBATTEN SrOBy (r98/) Well-knownand reasonableadaptation of the story,featuring Jamie Lee Curtisas the tragic Stratten.Also used by Bob Fosse (StarSO). DEATI{ OFA SALEflAAN (1985) Excellentversion, though still not as good as LasloBenedek's 1951 film, this won Emmysfor DustinHoffman and John Malkovitch.Most of the castwere from Hoffman's1984 Broadwav revival of Miller'sclassic. rHE DEATF| OF OCEAN y/EWPABK (/979) Dreadfuldisaster effort in which a hurricanehits a seaside amusementpark on a holiday weekend. Consideringa realpark was destroyedfor the film,the effectsare crap. DEATH BACE fte73) BoringWW2 drama with Lloyd Bridges,Doug McClureand Roy Thinnes,all of whom should know better (exceptpossibly McClure), DEATt{ SCBEAM (re75) Vast cast, includingsome worthwhilenames (Ed Asner for one) in a story based on the Kitty Genovese murder.Unfortunately degenerates into a bog cop thriller.Later renamed The WomanWho Cn'edMurder.

33 BRIGHTWINGED, WITH PALE HANDS Jo Rane

And the seas rose and the sky fell.All thingscame to an end.The agentof this destructionlooked upon his work and knewit to be good. He laughed,dark joy in his eyes,on his arrogantlybeautiful face. For thousandsupon millionsof yearshe had regardedhis father'screation with enviouseyes and plottedits downfall.Many trmeshe had engineeredits destructionbut he had alwaysbeen thwarted.Now, at last,he had succeeded.and successwas sweet. With a gesture,the world became dust. An emptinessdeeper than darknessspread across the face of the land,leaving nothing behind it, a negativespace, a negationof eventhe possibilityof lite,of light. Yet,impossibly, there was light,a terriblebrightness, all-consuming, and in the lightwas a Presence. My Son, what haue you done? The voice resonatedthrough him, rich and powerful,yet full of yearning.There was no reproach,no judgement,only lovefor somethinglong lost. "Why don't you call me by my name- by one of the namesI've been tauntedwith by your creationover the years.Call me Beelzebub,Ba'al, lblis,Sutekh, Shaitan. Call me Lucifer.As for what I have done - | did nothing!Mankind was your creation.You gave them free will. I merelygave them..."He paused,and then smiled,his voice silken."...toys. They didn't have to destroythemselves. After all, you made them in our image,and lookat us!" Yes, /et me look atyou, my son. The lightexpanded, touching his skin,his hair,entering every pore of his being,his mind,his soul.He fought hard, but the presencewas too strong.All the pretence,all the artifice,all the barriershe had created within himselfdissolved. Naked, his beautygone, his brightnessextinguished before that terrible,merciless light, he cowered,pale hands covering his ravagedface. "l only wanted your love!", he cried, his voice howlingdesolation. "You were alwaysbusy with something else.When I fell,you didn't catch me. You savedevery living thing, you caredfor every livingthing, but not me. You shut me out.You shut me out!" You were the br/ghtest and best otrmy creatrbns. A/ways. The words reverberatedthrough his being,rending him apart.The lightof the Presencewas all aroundhim and in him and throughhim now, makinghim anew,changing his being.He was safe.He was loved. Purewhite, burning and beautiful,he was a phoenixreborn from the ashesof the old world.From him, new lifewould spring. There would be a newbeginning. The Presencereleased him intothe void. Let there be //ght And in that greatsilence, he unfurledhis wings and flew.

34 DEATHPLAYLIST: THE TOP TEN Compiled by lan Creasey

DrJohn (S/eeprhgStephen) (Chris and Cosey) F/y on the Wndscreen(Depeche Mode) A// CatsAre Grey(TheCure) ThroughA Chr/dbEyes (Bananarama) ThePerfect l(zirs (New O rder) Joan of Arc (Mardof Or/eans)(OMD) Seconds(The Human League) And On (Yazoo) y'l/oodenHorse (Suzanne Vega) Letb A// MakeA Bomb(Heaven 1 7)

USICTO HAVE AN ABORTIONTO Compiledby Tara Dyson

Bye Bye Baby(Bay City Rollers) SpareParts (Bruce Springsteen) Never Stop 8/eedtng(Robyn Hitchcock and the Egyptians) Swee t September Sacrifibe(Terry B lai r and Anouch ka) /t s DrfferentFor Gir/s(Joe Jackson) l4rhyltl/or4t (Dire Straits) Sean(Everything But The Girl) New Sensaflbn(INXS) /ntruder (P eter Gabriel) Crosseyedand Pan/ess (TalkingHeads) Pu//rhg Musse/s From A She//(Squeeze) Not Here, Not Now (Joe Jackson) Too Much Sex Not Enough Affecfibn (Timbuk 3) Leare Me To B/eed(Erasure) Fxecuttbner(RobynH itchcock and the Egyptians) Lr/y the Prhk (Scattold)

35 TRUEFAITH '|atrbk McKay

"...timefor bed, saidZebedee." On the television. "Boing!" said the children,Nicola and Simon,in unison.Sat on the floorthey yawnedobediently and stood slowly. Julia was just a little surprisedto have got the children to go to bed so easily, and she wondered if she shouldprepare for nocturnaldisturbances. There was reallylittle she could do if they did wake. Pickingup the stray toys and left-over biscuit fragmentsshe thought about this. lt had been the closing lines of The Mag/c Foundabout which had prompted their peaceful and smooth departure.Was this meaningful?They hadn't even wanted to wait for Daddy, so she hadn't had to explain that he was away on business.Again. She hadn'thad to tell them a story,the ry had beenenough for them. She rememberedreading somewhere she couldn'trecall, that the BBC had writtentheir own scriptsto dub overthe originalpictures. Were they French?She thoughtso. Anyway,it was supposedto be too politicalto translateproperly, too directlysatirical, so they had fitted new storiesto importedscenes. The childrenloved it, and Julia thought it worked betterthan many of the newer,specially created programmes she endured with them. She switchedthe video off, revealingthe news. Foreignprotestors were changingthe world again,successfully it seemed,whilst AIDS ran uncheckedin Britain.Julia picked up a fluffy pink rabbit. Suddenlyshe had a curious thought: What if the news were dubbed, like TheMagrb Boundabouft Perhaps the BBC (not the government this time, the stories had the wrong tone, too dark) thought that people shouldn'thear the real stories,and so they had inventedthese wild talesto fit the pictures.She laughedat this equallywild idea.lt was a new form of censorship,but it mightbe true. And if enough people believed it, did it matter? Didn't mass popular acceptance make fiction apparently real? People thought TV shows were real.Wasn't the truth often dismissedas fantasyand speculation?She rememberedhearing this suggestedbefore. What if Realitywere a democracy?Julia recalledthe term consensusreality. People think that the CIA shot Kennedy,so they might as well have done; other examples came to her now: Yoko split the Beatles,Thatcher rigged the elections,Bob Dylancan't sing, she thought, looking at Richard'stape collection.All true becausepeople believethey are true. Dylan used to be able to sing,but peoplesaid he couldn'tand now he can't.Proof. How many did it take, though? Obviouslynot a majority,because lots of Africanshadn't heard of Mrs Thatcher(although some of them might know the Beatles).So maybe it was just a majorityof those who had a firm opinion on the matter,a sort of Balanceof Belief.Julia wonderedif there was a universalLaw of Conservationof Faith,or did it decay, ebb and flow, its springtides provokedone time by a SalmanRushdie, another by some other pointless "outrage"? lt might just take one particularlyintense person to change things. Julia decided to believesomething to test her theory. lt couldn't be just anything,she needed to be precise.lt had to avoidpure chance interfering with her result. Richardwas not home that night - he said he had a conferencein Bath - but Julia had expectedhim to phone. She was so engrossedin her searchfor a "belief" that she didn't miss his call until after ten. So much for her thoughtof an earlynight like the children.He'd be at dinnernow so he wouldn'tring. Or would he? Julia wonderedif he was as alone as she was, or if he had his secretary,Sara. Blonde and tall Sara could easilymake a man neglecthis wife and children,she would distracthim with a thought.Julia didn't know that Sarahad gone with Richard;she didn't know that they were havingan affair;she didn't know but she believedit, and that made the difference. She could find a pretext to call Sara - Richard'strain times, perhaps?- but if she didn't answer it would weigh down all her fears.lgnore it and let it go away,then? lt might be best. Get Christmasover with, at least.For the kids'sake. Julia decided this calmly.She had a nice house,great children(tonight, at least),a part-timejob but no needto work,and a husbandwho was sleepingwith his secretary.She would be all right. Preparingfor bed, Julia looked in the mirrorand thoughtagain about her husbandand his lover.She was sure. What else could she do but ignore it? How would she win him back? A new image, change her

36 TRUEFAITH

hairstyle?Her legs neededshaving, she was sureSara's legs were long and smooth. Outsideit beganto snow.By morningit would lie likeJulia's bedsheets: deep and crispas mid-Winterdawn streakedit blood-red.

I DRINKBEER, ME... HE STORYCONTINUES... Ntb Farey

I owe you, Martin. "Hello, Marty?Yeh, it's me. Rememberthat "problem" you had a while back. . Wrote about it for Tony, I should'a seen it comin' really.Yeh, same problem.Well, more problemsreally. I dunno,maybe less. Well... what? No, I didn't reallywant to talk about it that much.You know me well enough by now. No, no...Yeh. No...look, just shut up a minutewill ya? Listen,you git...no, sorry mate...no really.Yeh, well, I supposeI just wantedto thank you for writingabout it then. No, really.Yeh, well, look...Oh fuck, can we talk later? Yeh,OK, see you at Novaconthen. OK. Bye." (/magrnary co n yers a tl on) Really,it did help.Remembering Martin's piece of October19BB madethe symptomsvery obviousto me, I knewwhat was happening.Actually I alwaysknew. I knewthen, when I read it. I knew before.Debt, days off work, mood swings,you name it. Everyspare penny was a proportionof a pint; every shillinga slice of a swig. "Fiftythou a year'llbuy a lot of beer." (Timbuk 3. The Future s So Bngh{ / Gotta l4/earShades) The trouble isn't only that, of course.Would it were that simple. (You think you had it bad, Marty? Read on boy.) Well of course it can't be that bad can it? After all, I still have my flat (just). I still have my girlfriend. When I dranktoo much I just fell asleepperched on somethingas unlikelyas a CalorGas heater.Harmless, eh? Then we come to that extra added ingredient, guaranteedto generate sufficient heat to evaporate all sympathy.That extralittle spice which turns a common probleminto an uncommonone. Oh, girls,it's a real frightener.Yes, I'm talking about VIOLEIVCE "Violence,Violence, lt's the onlything that'll make you see sense" (Mott The Hoople.' Vtb/ence)

Cis a friend I've known ages. She's stuck with me throughthick and (mostly)thin, even when I was havinga reallybad time and lots of mood swingswhen l'd decidedto leavemy wife. She's had a lot to put up with.The firstoccasion I don't even remember,probably because she didn'ttell me too much about it at the time. I was, as usual,completely legless, and this conspiredwith one of my occasionalbut regularbouts ot depressionto put me in a foul mood. (Later,you'll notice a patternemerge here.) | suppose it wasn't what you'd call too serious.No marks.No realdamage. Just slappedher arounda little.Well, put it down to the generalemotional confusion of the period.Let it go. The secondtime was worse,but probablyonly becauseI rememberedsome of it, and it was public.well, it was public to the extent of occurring in the street, in front of a garage on New North Road as I recall. I

37 HE STOHYCONTINUES...

screamed,shouted, carried on, threwfists, kicked, and then screamedsome more. I can't even remember yelling "Get why, but I kept the fuck out of my facel" at high volume.We row a lot, me and J I suppose it comesof beingsuch good friends.This one, though, was a milestone.Still, I was depressedat the time. Last week, l'd been depressed all week. Louise was away, and I was generlly demotivated about life in general.So come Thursday,I went to visit |J We went to the local pub for a drink,we ate (she cooked), I cheeredup. lt was nice. Then lgot reallydrunk on Wild Turkey.Eea//y drunk. Stinkingdrunk. Obscenely drunk. Grossly drunk. Filthy, dirty, arsehole bastard tFuckrngdrunk I threw away the bottle cap, saying I wouldn't need it (almosttrue). From wnatJtells me, Clive Barkercould've got severalnovels and a couple of lucrativefilm contractsfrom the look in my eyes. Fistsflew. Tearswere shed. Lies were told. "Alcoholprovokes the desire,but takesaway the performance." {Swedrsh ruad) It must havelooxed like a bad outtakefrom 91/2Weeks. I orderedher to crawlaround, then get back by the door,then crawl,so may timesthat her kneeswere a massof carpetburns next morning.When she was too slow to comply I hit her acrossthe face.Eventually, she was releasedby my passingout on the floor.Three staggersand down. She managedto find the bottle cap and save the last couple of measures. To digress:Martin's answer was to stickto beer,Just beer,No wine, no spirits.For me, apartfrom the first step of admittingthe problem (and admittingit to selectedcolleagues at work, includingmy boss) | cut out lunchtimedrinking straight away - and believeme, that'squite a savingalready. I try not to drinkduring the week, or at least not too much. This, I figure,won't hampermy socialising,convention going or partying, only my more solitaryimbibing. End of digression.lt's an acceptedtheory that your true natureand desirescome out when you've had a drink or two, so what does this mean? | already knew I was moody. I already knew I was prone to depressions.lthoughtlalreadyknewalot. ldidn'tknowlwasalatentsadist. ldidn'tknowlhadthat capabilityfor violence.I didn'tknow I could be so nastyto my bestfriend. I loveyouJand l'm so sorry. I don'tremember. Was that me?

oh wcr\, ;k5 6 titlnl

38 LOCO CITATO The Eeadershrp

IS V O Jay p ital?rsed and square/yparenthesisedJ

Alan J Su/huan,c/o /3 WerTGardens, Bay/effi, Essex 556 7TH Manythanks for HATE, FEAR AND LOATHING (Arrows of Desire 4). Let's see... "Tell Me About lt". I reckon l've walked down a few of the same streets- a nicely evoked aura of urbanparanoia. The "you-are-being-followed-no-don't-look-keep-walking"feeling. [/ agree that the p/bce has an "urban" feel but it's based on the emotrbns / had wa/krng home as a chld n a sma// url/age with on/y one street /amp. Boy, was / g/ad to reach lhat street /amp/J "Hate,Fear and Loathing"- As FrankZappa was wont to say: "Bizarre",lmust try and get my mind roundit sometime- looksintriguing. "Good Intentions"- A nice,tightly-written piece, certainly a differentangle on the roadto Hell. "Killinga Child" - Very controlled,very... neutral. This makesit seem ratherbland, when you considerthe highlyemotive subject. fPerhaps you're nght To my shamq / far/ed to credit Kev McVerph n sstre 4 wrth the edftorshrp of thn piece, carried out ai my request /n fact Kev made a ve/y few sma// change1 and we were both p/eased wth the end resu/t/ "toathing and Litigation"- Hmm, yes indeedThis sort of thing seems to happena lot in the USA. "TextbookofGreen"-Anexcellentrenderingof thesortof helplessfearyougetinall theverybest"lWant" nightmares...ends likea dreamwith the jerk backto reality. "Hate and Fear at the Movies" - There'sa lot of it aboui. The industryseems to thrive on it; even in the comedyfilms some poor beggarhas to suffer. "What is it You're Afraid Of?" - I remember reading a book once {On/y oncq A/anX where one character saysto another"How manythings are thereto be afraidof?" "l don't know",the other replies,"That's what scaresme". A philosophicalpoint, but not withouta certainhumour to it, albeitof the blackestkind. "Why?" - | don't knoweither, and I'm not sureI wantto. Two sentencessay it all.Neat. "Passthe Sick-bag,Alice" - Heh,heh, heh, heh. Sick... "Hateseeker"- From the visceraliemotional/sensualto the coldly cerebralto the world-weary ending. Obviously,they don't all end like that. (Do they? I'm waitingto find out if one does, anyway.)There's a definite"maybe the next one" feel to the end of it. A nice upbeatending always beats a Soap Operacliche anyday. "How PetheridgeDied" - This has a very definiteperiod atmosphereto it, almost...Wellsian? [/m tr/atered/J Maybe it's the late Victorianstyle languagethat does it. Otherwise,a prettysimple exercisein murder by characterassassination. An effective piece, with a "dated" yet timeless quality about it (now there's paradoxical). "Fear & Loathingin Hate City" - Quite a set of gut reactionsthere. The bit with the crowds and the flame-thrower is reminiscentof a Woody Allen comment on large, pressing crowds (he preferreda machine-gun,or for singlepests a giant polo mallet).The overallfeeling I get from this is that the hate,fear and loathingseems to stem from situationsof constraint,frustrations and helplessnessagainst an uncaring, unseeing,unfeeling mass. Thus do individualssuffer, or somethinglike that (l wish I could rememberwhere I stolethat line...) "Great Hate Figuresof Fandom" - | can't think of many people I could add to this as being generally disliked.There are a few I could add for personalreasons, but that'stoo petty.

39 LOCO CITATO

1/ lhnk you cou/d be taklng thls too senousu Mlnd you, Dave Langtrord has seDed on tne fact tllat ne happened to be the frTstname on thrs (numbered) /ist and p g/eefu//y proc/aimrng hrmseltrto be fandomb Number One Hate Frgure (see Sg/odrbn, Apnl 7990)./t was a/most a shame to te// him that the /ist was n no part/cu/ar order.J "HFL Playlist"- Quite a list..,there's some reallygood trackshere, and one or two reallybizarre ones - Pinlryand Perky?!?Oh well,at leastit wasn'tthe SmurfsNow there'sa subjectfor hatred! And apartfrom tne lettercolumn, the end of the zine,That's about it for this,too,

DF Lewa 7 Ltoyd Avenue, Cou/sdon, Strrey CR52QS Thanksfor the copy of #4 | tind this a most originalmagazine in its format and style, particularlythe non-use of illos.The "undereights" joke was a bit nearthe bone! loe McNa//y, /O6 Somerton Road BELFAST Northern /re/and Bfls 4DG 'Hate,Fear and Loathing",eh? All subjectsclose to my heart.I went througha period in my adolescence when I made it my businessto hate everybodyuntil they gave me a reasonto feel otherwise.There isn't a lot you can tell me abouthate. 'TellMe About lt" I enjoyed,although I get the feelingyou didn'tattempt to elicitthat particularresponse. I was raiseda Catholic.and thus felt guilty about everythingI did betweenthe ages of about ten and fourteen or so, when I stoppedfeeling guilty about anything I did. But they were an interestingfour years:washing my own pyjamas,leaving the windowsopen to clearvarious odours, some less licitthan others,and, behindit all,the sureand certainknowledge that I Was GoingTo HellFor This. So, I actuallyfound this one quitea laff not. [You?e flght. not the react/'on / had antlclpated. St///..] Jayle'sbit was a nice meditationpiece; l'm just annoyedthat he left out Roadrunnercartoons from the list at the end, while including Bugs and Daffy. I mean, I thought everybodyknew that until "Last Year In Marienbad",nothing portrayedthe workings of the mind better than the Roadrunner- or, more precisely, WileE Coyote,Genius. IR D Laing obutous/y had the wrong end of the psyche/J "Road to Damascus" [Actua//y the p/bce was ca//ed "Good /ntentrons'J was OK, but I've never really enjoyedfiction that goes all cosmicover Christian imagery (PKD can just aboutcarry it off). "KillingA Child": Insensitivity,stupidity, selfishness and might-have-beens.Such is life. lt must be true, I readit in a Christmascracker... 'Loathing" and Litigation:howcum you leave out the Harlan Ellison - Michael Fleischerlawsuit? [/ didn? have the deta//s - simp/e enough?J lt would have been pedect for the theme. Fleischer apparently took exceptionto the fact that Ellisonhad referredto him as "bugfuck" in print,and took him to court for libel. Ellisonat one point stood up in court and claimedthat he used "bugfuck" as a term of endearment,and that was the contextin which he meantit. MichaelFleischer, incidentally, is now writingfor 2000AD.He's crap. "Textbookof Green":the same comments(more or less)as those abovefor "Killinga Child".The writerjust needsa good kickup the arse ''Hateand Fearat the Movies":Pity you limitedyourself to titularhate and fear,or you could reallyhave had fun. MaureenPorter's exploration of the natureof fear reallytouched a nervewith me. For the last while - since Eastcon,in fact - my own futurehas lookedvery uncertain,and l'm rediscoveringjust how many things in

40 oco crTATo

rhe world there are to be afraidof. Somethingnot dissimilarhappened last year as well.At leastthis time I don't haveto be afraidior anybody. l'rn stillunsure if that piecewas meantto be fictionor not,Always a markof effectivewriting. "Why?": lt's becausenot everybodyseems to realisethat sexismdoesn't just apply to women. lt's just as sexist to say that all men are potentialrapists as is it to say that all women are asking for it. lt's just more sociallyacceptable to claimthe former. // agree wth your basrb pont, but thnk that th/b /b an execrab/e way of putflng 4 renlorcrhg as ft does the nomna/ ro/es of aggressor and w'ctrm. /tb been argued that the ma/e archeltpe has the posrttve ua/ue ''Prourder" and the negative 'Aggressor'l The equiua/ent fema/e va/ues are 'Homemaker" and 'Deceiver'l Many c/assrc myths, especia//y pre-Roman, portray some fema/e characters n thrs ven. The anrina/ eguiralenl s the urxen, a/so a term of rnsu/t for women whtbh suruiued unill comparatiue/y recent/y. The typica/ femate cnmna/ mrght therefore be sard to be Lucrezn Borgm, snce porsontng s a "deceptire" nethod of mtrrder. /t night therefore be a ua/id companson to say that rf a// men are potentia/ rapsts, then a// women are po ten tia/ posoners.J Sickjokes: How can you tellwhen your girlfriendhas come? Who cares? "Hateseeker": weird. Not unenjoyable. ''How PetheridgeDied": Nice idea.Very nice idea.Hee hee. 'Fearand Loathing":Much materialfor debatehere. For example,a large numberof Storm's"angels" fit Into differentcategories for me. I find it easierto hate,rather than loathe,people whose religiousor political beliefsconflict that badly with my own. Mind you, that'sprobably because I have to walk past some minor equivalentof the Rev. Dr. Paisley,or occasionallythe Grate Man himself,every time I go into town on a Saturday,telling me that I Am DefinitelyGoing To Hell. But broadly,I agree.Crowds in particular.Belfast, despite being fairly large, and a city, is very much a small town. With all that entails,except with guns. And people that it is really very, almost unimaginably, dangerousto get into a fight with, becauseeven if you beatthem shitless,you mightfeel a tap on the back while walkinghome from the pub one night and spend the rest of your life on crutches(BlackAndDecker- BlackAndDecker...). So, to get back to the point,if you look at all weird,(l do) crowdsin Belfastcan be a WholeLoad of No Fun At All. Unlessyou knowthe rightpeople. Hate Figures.l'll tell you how anybodycan possiblyhate HarryBond. 1989Unicon. Belfast. Myself, my then girlfriend,Joy Hibbert(two separatepeople, I shouldadd), DaveRowley and HarryBond go out for a meal. Since three of the party are vegetarians,I suggesta totallyhoopy lndianrestaurant. We stand scrutinising the menu,and beforelong, this culinaryversion of "Mayfair"has workedits magicand the juicesof four of us are flowingprofusely. ThenHaz sez somethingalong the linesof "Well I can't eat Indian,so l'll just go off to the ltaliannext door, shall l?" in tones more suited to somebodysaying "Has anybodygot any razorbladesor very powerful sleepingpills? I'm just off to the bathroom,no needto worryabout me or anything..." Playlist.Come on, who are you tryingto kid? WHEREWAS REM'S"THE ONE I LOVE"?The most perfect hate song ever written - it even charted ferchrissakes!| could suggest many more obscure songs - "Terminus"and "The FullPack" by PsychicTV suggestthemselves, as does "Revolution"by the Spacemen 3 - but thatwas an almostunforgivable omission. [What can I say, other than 'Never heard of any otr 'em, guv". Neither have / /rstened to "the charts" for a number of years. a/though / do rather lke that Pau/a Abdu/ record.J And Joy Divisionhad nothingto do with "Blue Monday" fFor lhat one though,mea cu/pa.J LoCs.Sorry, have I missedsomething here? KEN CHESLIN'S SON lN lN NED'SATOMIC DUSTBIN??!!??!? Fugginell.Almost as startlingas Pete Lyon's claim in Sglodion(the veracityof which I cannot vouch for) that

4/ LOCO CITATO

Dave Langford'sbrother is in the ThreeJohns. Evidenceof some sort of conspiracyhere, methinks.What next? Linda Pickersgillto join Sonic Youth?Wilf James takingon vocal choresin the Soup Dragons?Ken Laketo producethe nextSkrewdriver LP? I thinkwe shouldbe told.

[Not /east pernaps, who ha/f of these 'bands" are, assum/ng them to be purueyors of music n the modern diom,J Kiki'sLoC hurt even me. I alwaystry and avoid being drawn into argumentslike this.This is no exception. Let me just say that I don't think a fanzine,no matterhow personalits subject matter may be, is the place to carryon this littletete a tete. [/m not conv/nced of thrs uiewpoinl /est of a// whether "tete a tete" /s the phrase to descnbe the 'exchange". The LoC was subfi?/ed 'A Drfferent Perspective", and that is what ft purueys, and ndeed rs a perspective on whr'ch K/k/ /s entft/ed to comment The LoC was ne/ther sought nor refused, nefther the contflbution "Good /ntentions". Hauing received the contrlbution and LoC what wou/d your opinr'on have been had / rertrsed to ptb/nh on such grounds?J PatrickMcKay's LoC mentionsyour littlestatement about sex alwaysbeing good &c. Yes, SV, he's right.r couldtell you stories,but won't,Ha. By the way, now do you play football(or play Novacon,for that matteQon the phone?Sorry, l'm just being silly.Time to go.

Ken Ches/in. lO Coney Green, Stourbridge, WestMtd/ands DY9 /lA. [Thrs LoC edited for sense & spe/n. A/so Ken.'yes, three, and ne lhat's nol why.J if I had seen AOD 1 and 2 also I might have been able to draw a more sure inference:is it your intention, then. to have a theme for each issue?[Yes.JV{ell, your way of doing it isn't mine.[Tough. Orperhaps /D/C.Jl don't say you'rewrong, and I understandthat you dependon whatyou get in the way of articles,though yot, are responsibleif you outlinethe type of materialyou want.I would havedone thingsin a less seriousvein. 1lwonder if it's possibleto do a seriesaround the sevendeadly sins, though l'd haveto look up what they are.) [Let me saue you the troub/e.'pnde, covetousness, /ust anger g/uttony, envy and s/oth.J Love last time, hatethis time,whai next?Envy? Sloth? l can imaginesomeone making a good (amusingand fannish)item from either of them. [Or, ndeeQ the other five/J Though I says it (who shouldn't?)| don't think much of the skill of the front cover artist.The back cover doesn't look so bad, but possiblybecause it's sort of abstractand harder to see if the illustratorhas succeededin his/herintentions. f/t s at moments /he thp that / strong/y suspect the extractl'on of a certan amount of urine. /f you are berhg serlous, the front/ back cover is a stng/e prblure, whr'chshou/d be apparent if you open the cover and ho/d rt towards you. The arlist s ma/e.J I thinkyou could do with a few biggerheadings and a few illosor somethingto breakup the type, though you may (justifiablyperhaps) begrudge the space. [Not at a//. Your wrshrs my command - at /east thrs t/me.J Unmovedby "TellMe Aboutlt". Wasn'tterribly impressed, wasn't terribly disappointed. Jayle SummersI had more of a reactionabout, like "This S V O'Jay must be very peculiar,or desperate, printingsuch garbage".I had an acquaintanceonce who usedto writewords and phrasesdown on stripsof paper,mix them up and pick them out, writingthe resultdown as poetry.This, I felt, could have a certain arguablevalidity, and that'sthe best I couldsay aboutit. "Good Intentions".Overwhelming impression: utterly boring, but take no noticeof me. IA temptthgoffer/Jl used to be interestedin all sorts of Deep and Significantthings: the Meaningof Life, Love, Pain, Suffering, the PollTax,but now I don't give a monkey'sfart. Well, most of the time I don't, but most of the time I'm not sittingin some cornerof a conventionsupping my thirddrink and gettingmaudlin. There should be an article in there somewhere, like what makes for this disinterestin the aged; slowing down of the blood, senile

42 LOCO CITATO

decay,years of experience/disillusionment, and what is the relationshipbetween the two? Fromwhat I recall it was the Englishtype studentswho were mostlyinclined to flap their mouthsabout all these very serious subjects,though ''the Arts" generallywere to some extent that way inclined.Damn all philosophers, prophets,mystics, theologians and politicians! "Killinga Child".Nothing that doesn'thappen every day. I can't fault it for that. lt givesme much the same sort of feelingi get on readingthose advicecolumns in womens'mags... partly how can peoplebe so daft, or so stupid,or so srmple,or so nastyand unfeeling,and partlysadness and sympathyfor some,be it "their Iault" or not. Apart from a superficial"immediate response" level, I try not to "blame" anyone. That too I atrributeto gettingolder. The DF Lewisseemed purposeless, which ain't allthat unusual.Bored me. Movies.OK if you likethat sortof thing,but it seemeda wasteof spaceto me. 'What ls lt You're Afraid Of"? lf read from about halfwaydown the first page, for preference,it reads like someonewho is mentallyill. lf that was the intendedimpression it succeeded,but it's nothingI could get interestedin. Men & Women.fBarbara s "Why?'JNow that was amusinglytrue to life. So were some of the "jokes". 'Hateseeker".Boring. ''How PetherrdgeDied" I liked.A very neatlittle piece, probably the bestthing in the zine. Page 21. ['Fear and Loathing in Hate Ci/" - Storm Constantine./No comment. Hate figures.Amusing too. This could possiblyhave worked quite well givingeach victimeight or ten lines enlargingon their faults, sins, personalhabits, with examples.[/n some of the lhstances,thrs doesn? rea//y bear thinkrng abotrt Especrb//y McVergh.J Playlist.Veryaoring. [There fo//owea some reactlbns from Ken to edftortb/ comments on hn LoC of /ast issue. 7o avord further pena//sng the a/ready bewldered my responses are.' (/) No. (2) B/oody He/// (3) Oh, good/ Norma/ serur?e wr//now be resumed.J Kikiwritestoo seriousa LoC for me to commenton. The blank spaces don't exactlyannoy me, but it does seem to be a waste.

PatMcKay, NFA (No FucktngAddress) re: your Fearand Loathingissue:-l HATED lT! Ha!Ha! Hal Seriously(as rn razorblades!), another BITCHIN issue.Damn, that shouldhave read HITCHIN. Betterluck next time.Seems to me you been goin' at the methodacting re fnz prodn,so how you gonnafollow death? Anotherissue at Easter? [Out of the mouths... As usual next ssue s theme p announced n the co/ophon, and s enrt7e/yapproprnte to your commentJ

43 RROWSOF DESIRE5 November /99O

WENAME THEDY/NG... BARRY BAYLEY 48 TurreffAvenue, Donnington, Telford, Shropshire TF2 8HE HELENA BOWLES 116Shireland Road, Smethwick, Warley, West Midlands 866 4QJ KEN CHESLIN 10Coney Green, Stourbridge, West Midlands, DY18 1LA CARDINAL COX 24 WestfieldRoad, Yaxley, Peterborough PE7 3LG IAN CBEASEY 73 RichmondAvenue, Leeds LS6 1DB AOSDANA DUBH c/o PatrickMcKay TARA DYSON cio EditorialAddress NIC FAREY c/o EditorialAddress DF LEWIS 7 LloydAvenue, Coulsdon, Surrey CRs 2QS PATRICKMGKAY c/o EditorialAddress KEV McVEIGH 37 FirsRoad, Milnthorpe, Cumbria LA7 7OF S V O'JAY PO Box 29, Hitchin,Herts SG4 gTL JO RAINE 29 ThornvilleRoad, Hartlepool, Cleveland T526 8EW ALISON SCOTT 2 CraithieRoad, Vicars Cross, Chester CH3 sJL MOIRASHEARMAN 14 HarrisonGardens, Edinburgh EH11 1SQ NINA WATSON 100Gleneldon Road, Sreatham, London SW16 2BZ

ARROWS OF DESIRE appearstwice yearly and is editedand producedby: s v o'JAY, PO Box 29, Hitchin, Herts SG4 gTG. Copiesavailable for the usual.Postage appreciated if overseasand not tradingother zines. AOD6 will be availablein April1991. Theme: RELIGION. Contributions,LoCs etc to the editorialaddress bv 1st March1991 . ND FINALLY...

YOUDIE...